Searching for Sera

by Dallas E Tucker

  SEARCHING FOR SERA

  By: Dallas E. Tucker

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2019 Dallas E. Tucker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except by reviewers who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN-13 978-1-7337738-0-5 eBook

  ISBN-13 978-1-7337738-1-2 Paperback

  Book cover designed by Betibup33 designs

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication Page

  CHAPTER 1: The Path Leading Home

  Chapter 2: I Remember You

  Chapter 3: Some Bad News

  Chapter 4: A Block Away

  Chapter 5: Looking For Answers

  Chapter 6: My Own Epiphany

  Chapter 7: A New Angel

  Chapter 8: The Other Side of Sera

  Chapter 9: Hiding in Plain Sight

  Chapter 10: Just You and Me

  Chapter 11: Here I Come

  Chapter 12: Waiting in Comfort

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Dedication Page

  To my amazing wife, Marsha. Without you, none of this would be possible.

  And

  To all the men and women that wear the uniform. Thank you for protecting us from all the evil that lurks in the shadows.

  CHAPTER 1

  The Path Leading Home

  The rev of the engine and the wail of the siren broke through the silence of the night. The bright red lights were pulsating off the pavement, as the ambulance raced towards its destination. Several minutes away the emergency room staff had already been notified. They were standing by, awaiting its arrival. The room was prepped, and everyone was on high alert. Calls like this one are never good and tend to make tensions extremely high.

  John laid on the gurney, unconscious, but breathing. His vital signs were weak and seemed to be getting weaker by the second.

  “His blood pressure is dropping fast, 60 over 35!” the paramedic yelled, as the EMT drove the ambulance.

  “I'm pushing 1 mg of EPI.”

  The paramedic inserted the syringe into the IV line and plunged the dose. Waiting for the drug to react, the paramedic nervously watched the monitor. Several seconds went by without a reaction.

  “What’s our ETA?” the paramedic anxiously asked.

  “We’re about 3 minutes out,” answered the EMT.

  “Hang on John we’re almost there. Don't give up on me now,” the paramedic pleaded, as he continued to work.

  He had managed to control the bleeding, but it was unknown how much damage the bullet had done. The blood-soaked paramedic held John's hand, as he said a quiet prayer. He was interrupted by the EMT yelling from the driver's seat.

  “30 seconds out!”

  The paramedic said amen and grabbed the IV lines and oxygen tank. He looked down at John, as the ambulance came to an abrupt stop. John laid there silent and still, hopefully in peace and without pain.

  The ambulance quickly backed into the ER bay. The back doors swung open, and the paramedic saw the ER staff waiting. They were lined up in formation, like trained soldiers awaiting their orders. He knew it was out of his hands at this point, as he prepared to unload John. He wheeled the gurney to the edge of the ambulance and dropped the wheels to the ground. He quickly wheeled John inside, giving his patient report to the doctor.

  The ER staff took over and began prepping John for emergency surgery. After the adrenaline wore off, a sadness came over the paramedic. He stood there in his bloodstained uniform looking defeated. He knew injuries like the one John had were never good. He prayed for John one more time and then turned towards the back doors. He slowly sauntered back to the ambulance, as the sliding glass doors of the ER quietly closed behind him.

  ◆◆◆

  (Two weeks earlier)

  The buzzing of the alarm was ear piercing, as I shot up in bed. I slammed my hand on the clock, silencing the alarm. 5:00 a.m. came quickly, as the only thing visible was the moonlight shining through the window. I was groggy and wanted nothing more than to lay back down and drift off to sleep.

  Maybe I will call in sick, I thought to myself. With almost 20 years on the job, I had only called in sick a handful of times. I was a workaholic and the likelihood of me missing it was slim to none.

  I rubbed my eyes and ran my hands through my thinning hair. I looked over Allie, who was snuggled up under the blankets. Her breathing was soft and rhythmic. It was apparent she hadn't heard a thing. For a few seconds, I watched Allie peacefully sleep. The moonlight landing on her face, accentuating her true beauty. Allie was my life, and I never missed a chance to recognize how special she was. Today was no exception.

  I stared at Allie and felt a warmness rise up inside me that instantly turned into butterflies. She was so gorgeous, sleeping sound, without a care in the world. After a few seconds I sighed, and resentfully crawled out of bed.

  The bathroom light momentarily blinded me. I waited for my eyes to adjust, before turning on the sink. I let the water run, waiting for it to get warm. I stared at myself in the mirror and critiqued my appearance. Father time had been kind to me, but I was a perfectionist, and could always find some flaw.

  There were small wrinkles in the corners of my eyes, but to me, they looked like deep canyons. My hair was thinning on top, but there was still plenty to comb. A little silver had managed to creep in just above my ears, giving me a sophisticated and seasoned look.

  “Forty fucking years old,” I said in disgust, as I threw water on my face. Where has the time gone, I thought, as I started to brush my teeth.

  In all reality, I looked pretty good for my age. With all the stress I had endured over the last two decades, I could have easily looked twice as bad. Being a police officer is tough on a person. It can really take a toll on the body and the mind. Deep down, I was thankful it hadn't caused too much damage yet.

  After washing up, I looked myself over one more time. I nodded my head and turned off the light.

  My clothes were neatly laid out on the bedroom chair; a nightly ritual that I’ve done for over 20 years. I pulled on my pants and buttoned my shirt. I slipped on my boots and adjusted my gig line. I used the lint roller to remove all the imperfections off of my clothes. I clipped my badge and holster to my belt. I press checked my gun, making sure there was a round chambered. I inserted my Glock into my holster and adjusted it for proper fit. I practiced drawing my weapon several times, each time getting on target faster and faster. It was a technique I did every single day. Muscle memory was the key to shooting, and I was a skilled marksman.

  After completing my routine, I walked into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee. The rich, intriguing aroma filled the room. I took a sip. The hot, delicious liquid coated my mouth and slowly worked its way down my throat. The flavor penetrated deep into my soul. Absolutely delightful. I looked forward to the first sip of coffee every day. It was truly one of my favorite things.

  While my mind slowly woke up, I stood there and enjoyed my decadent pleasure. I looked down at my boots to make sure they were in order. I had made polishing them an art form. On the first day of the academy, I had mastered it. One of the instructors told our class how important it was to have command presence as a police officer. I had taken his advice to heart. Since that day, all of my shoes have had a mirror finish. They looked flawless and I was r
egularly complimented on them.

  After finishing my first cup, I filled my favorite commuter mug to go. I placed it next to my lunch and keys. I did a quick check of myself, to make sure I had everything I needed. After I was satisfied, I decided to check on the girls.

  I walked down the hallway and opened their bedroom door. They were still sleeping and had about a half hour to go, before their alarm. Both girls were in high school, and living with two teenagers was quite chaotic. In a teenagers life, everything is dramatic and secretive, especially for girls.

  Thankfully, the girls had always been open and honest with me. They usually told me everything, sometimes more than I wanted to know. In return, I had always kept an open mind with them. Our level of communication helped create a strong relationship with each other.

  I walked into their room and went to each of their beds. I gently kissed each one on the forehead and momentarily watched them as they slept.

  It seemed like only yesterday when they were starting school. But now they were in high school, senior year to be exact. Just one more year to go and they would be gone. Off to start their own lives and new adventures. I was nervous about it, but also excited for them.

  I gave them both one more glance, smiled and quietly left the house.

  ◆◆◆

  The city of Clarksville was about a 20-minute drive. Clarksville has a population of about 100,000. It is centrally located around three major freeways, and the population grows daily to over 160,000 with all of the college students and commuters.

  The drive to work was just enough time for me to drink my coffee and listen to the sports highlights from the previous night. To me, the drive was peaceful and had amazing views. There was an abundance of wildlife and large beautiful ranches, spanning across the magnificent valley. The valley was surrounded by jaw-dropping, picturesque mountains, that seemed to get higher every day. A panoramic view that you would most likely see on a postcard and dream about visiting someday. I was lucky enough to have been raised in this area. At a young age, I knew this was where I would raise my family.

  Allie and I had made quite a home for our girls. Our house was a beautiful log cabin, situated on a few wooded acres. I had worked hard through high school and saved up some money over the years. I always added a few dollars here and there, putting a portion of each paycheck in the account. By the time I was 30 years old, I had saved enough to buy the property and build our home.

  Over the years, I had cleared out a section of the trees and turned it into a pasture. It was now full of cows, pigs, goats and chickens. Our family loved animals and enjoyed taking care of them. The girls were active in the FFA program, showing their steers and pigs at the local fair. Allie and I felt this was an excellent way to teach them responsibility and hard work.

  As I came over the last hill of the commute, I was nearing Clarksville. When I got to this point in the drive, a change always came over me. My serenity would soon disappear, and my mind would switch gears. I would quickly become steadily on guard and view everyone as a threat.

  It had only taken a few horror stories from my academy instructors to condition my brain. They told us stories of complacent cops becoming victims of ambushes and gruesome deaths. The kind of stories that would change a person.

  It definitely changed the way I looked at society. I learned to never sit with my back to a door. Instead, I would find a booth or chair positioned in a way that I could watch the entire restaurant or room. I learned to stand in line sideways, so that I could see out of the corners of my eyes. If a car was stopped at a red light, I would never pull up next to it. Instead, I would stop just short of being even, so I could keep my eyes on the driver. Little things that everyday people didn't think about were now second nature to me.

  During my career, I was dedicated and became a highly decorated officer. I had moved through the ranks, holding several special assignments. My positions ranged from patrol officer, field training officer, narcotics detective, and SWAT. My experience from those assignments helped me reach my current position of Senior Detective in the Major Crimes Unit.

  Investigations were my true calling, and I was damn good at them. I was respected by everyone at the department and was considered a real cop's cop. Several times I had my chances to promote to sergeant, but I knew it wasn't what I wanted.

  I needed the excitement of investigations. The challenges associated with long term cases. Cases that took weeks, months, and sometimes years to complete.

  Over the years I had worked some high profile cases. Some of which involved kidnap, sex crimes, child abuse, human trafficking, and murder. I had a knack for thinking like a criminal, a gift some would say. But to me, I felt my ability to talk with people was my real weapon. It just came easily to me. I could always find a topic that people could relate to, which made conversing with them easier.

  During my career, I attended many trainings and seminars on the art of interview and interrogation. I always got excited to learn new tactics and different traps to lay for suspects. I worked hard at my skill and became very successful at it. It was as if I could hypnotize suspects. No matter how hard they tried, they just couldn't help themselves from telling me what I needed to know.

  To be honest, I never spent more than 10 minutes with a suspect, before I knew if they were guilty or not. Maybe it was because of all of my undercover work? Perhaps it was because of all of my experience? I wasn't exactly sure how I did it, but I definitely had a talent for it.

  I arrived at the station and climbed out of my car. I made my way to the dispatch center. The dispatchers worked hard and deserved praise for what they dealt with. Like all law enforcement positions, it was a thankless job. I always did my best to take the time to stop in and say hello. I made it a priority to let them know that I appreciated them.

  After saying good morning, I made my way to the squad room. I poked my head in to make sure I wasn’t interrupting a morning briefing. Once the coast was clear, I began chatting with the patrol officers.

  I was close to a lot of the officers, having trained the majority of them. I viewed them as my brothers and sisters and always made time for them. There was a bond between cops, one that was as strong as oak. I think what made it that way, was knowing that any one of us would take a bullet for each other. If one of us needed help, you better believe that all of us were going to show up. The thin blue line, separating the wolves from the sheep. The peacekeepers, ready to protect and serve. It was what we all believed in, and why we did the job.

  As a police officer, you need to be able to cope with all of the negative things you deal with. One way to do that is with a sense of humor. You have to find time for some fun, and usually, that took place in the squad room. Laughter and cuss words spackled the walls, while some crude conversation and a few bad jokes, always started my shift off right. Bullshitting with the other officers, helped lighten the mood, which made the job a little more enjoyable.

  After most of the officers had hit their beats, and the laughter had faded, I began reading the hot sheets and call logs from yesterday.

  I always stayed current on what was happening in patrol. I liked knowing what was going on out on the streets. On top of that, most of the people arrested by patrol would eventually graduate to more serious crimes. Crimes that I typically investigated. Being up to date on their pasts usually helped me out in the long run.

  Another way I stayed on top of things, was by keeping in touch with my CI's. I had developed most of them during my narcotic days. In my experience, narcotics and alcohol seemed to be at the root of all crimes. For that reason, my CI's always seemed to be in the know.

  Over time, my CI's had developed respect and trust for me. I treated them fairly and was always straight forward with them. On top of that, they liked getting paid for giving me information. It was just a way of life for some of them. The more information they shared with me, the more money they got paid.

  One thing was for sure; people on the streets liked to
talk. One of my CI's would hear something about the latest crime, and that's when I would get a call. Sometimes it helped me solve cases and other times it didn't. But when you're a police officer, you can never have too many eyes and ears.

  As I read through the pages on the call log, an incident from yesterday caught my eye. The incident report indicated that a juvenile female, walking home from school, had been chased through the woods by a stranger. An officer responded, searched the area, but didn’t locate the suspect. The call log lacked details, and I wanted to find out what happened.

  I wrote down the incident number and noted Officer Chris Taylor was the one who responded. I was concerned about the call. Things like this didn't happen very often. My experience told me that the majority of these types of calls usually amounted to nothing. Most of the time it would be nothing more than a kid getting scared and imagining someone chasing them. But there was always a chance it could be real. And if it was real, it was something that needed to be investigated.

  I got on the nearest computer and pulled up Officer Taylor’s report. It wasn’t completed yet, but I found the juvenile’s name and address, as well as her mother’s information. I wrote the information down and then searched for Officer Taylor.

  I found Officer Taylor in the locker room, getting ready for his shift. Officer Taylor had been with the Clarksville PD for just over a year. We had never worked together, but we had seen each other in passing and at social events.

  Word always traveled fast within the walls of the department. Several of his FTO’s said he was energetic and enthusiastic. That he had the potential of being a great cop, but just needed a few years under his belt, to understand the streets better.

  “How the hell are you Chris?” I asked.

  "What are you up to John?" Chris replied as we shook hands.

  "Sorry to bug you so early into your shift, but I was wondering if you had a quick second?"

  “Absolutely. What’s going on?”